


I'm Not Angry

by Jamie_Anya



Series: Hiddlesworth's Short Stories [6]
Category: Australian Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Chris Feels, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Tom Feels, Tumblr:imagineyourotp, author regrets everything, emotional fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Anya/pseuds/Jamie_Anya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom finally had the courage to tell Chris.</p><p>Prepare your box of tissues before reading, you've been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Angry

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon my poor writing, this fic is not beta'd - English is not my first language, i'm afraid. 
> 
> I was watching 'Unrelated' and 'Archipelago' one day, and i'm completely smitten with Joanna Hogg's style. It looked somewhat haunting to me, but in a good way of course! 
> 
> This story is entirely fictional, i'll never ask for it to happen because Tom Hiddleston is such an amazing actor.

Times like these, he felt beggarly hopeless. His mind pondered on how should he tell Chris about his current state. In just about a few minutes more, his lover would come knocking on his door after his long flight from Melbourne. His family and friends already knew about his secret, and he couldn't forget the painful tears that escaped his mother's eyes. The assurances, the pats on his back and the lasting hugs still linger in his memory. He didn't have any reason to be angry with his fate.

 

He didn't have any reason to be sad either.

 

Tom should accept it, but his heart wouldn't let him so.

 

Listening to the maddening slow ticks of the clock, he eyed the living room of his quiet apartment - the place looked so vast to his eyes lately. It made him feel rather small and alone, and heavy with secrets. Let it be easy for his mouth to voice out his problem to Chris. But what worried him the most was - how Chris would react to this sudden news.

 

As he was the last person - for seven months - oblivious to Tom's sickness. Though he was suspicious of Tom's sinking appetite, his unnerving fragility and deficient weight, and the paleness of his skin and lips. And Tom would shrug him off, saying that he felt fine and healthy whenever they stumbled upon each other or when Chris would stay in his apartment if his next movie was somewhere close.

 

Tom looked at his reflection on the screen of his television, and he laughed at himself. He truly let himself go - his hair had turned to its original colour, the light scruff on his face and his hollowed eyes. His clothes that seemed to be hanging loosely on his body, and it used to fit him perfectly.

 

He looked lost.

 

He did.

 

*

 

It was pouring by the time Chris came knocking on his door, stood drenched with a sheepish smile that he couldn't get hold of a taxi and that he had to run from the suddenly heavy rain. For months, they only contacted each other through their phones and webcams - and it felt so long ago that Tom ever felt Chris' body pressed against his. This wonderful embrace from a lover who loved him so much, and the relationship they had must be kept a secret from the public eyes.

 

Chris was drying his hair with the towel Tom handed to him earlier, still looking sinfully handsome in his grey t-shirt and black cargo pants. He had just finished his hot shower when Tom was grating cheese for their dinner. Hugging Tom by his waist as he kissed his shoulder.

 

"Macaroni?"

 

"Yep," Tom smiled, tapping the metal grater lightly against the bowl.

 

"With my favourite man on top?" Chris suggested, biting on Tom's earlobe

 

"Seriously, how dirty is your mind right now?"

 

"Well, we haven't seen each other for months... So, my dirtiness level has reached its peak seeing you making dinner with your troublesome sexiness."

 

He yelped when Chris lightly slapped his bottom, and gave him a playful punch, "I suggest you to behave yourself right now, or i'm kicking you out."

 

Chris only laughed at his adorable threat, before leaning in to kiss on the corner of his lips. And whispered, "I love you, babe."

 

"...Me too," he replied, the 'love you too' felt so heavy for his tongue.

 

Tom would miss this, so terribly much. The warmth, the love, the confessions... He would miss everything, and all of the emotions that he felt throughout his whole life would never miss him back. Not only did he feel lonely, he felt left out by the world itself - hungry for a long life. But he didn't feel angry, acceptance was already floating in his mind.

 

Resuming his cooking, he noticed Chris' worried gaze on him as he moved to help him preparing their dinner. Mixing, swirling and tasting the delicious homemade recipe that the two discursively made and experimented back when they were in Iceland. It felt nostalgic, knowing that they had been together before the two of them auditioned for Thor. It supposed to be a challenge at first, and it turned out surprisingly well.

 

Because of this, he felt like crying.

 

*

 

_Resting his head on Chris' broad shoulder, they danced slowly and followed the soothing, romantic rhythms of the love song on the radio. It was Tom's birthday, and they resorted to spend the night indoor since it was much colder outside. Chris nuzzled his nose on the crook of Tom's neck, trailing light kisses up to his jaw and whispered, "...You're amazing."_

 

_Tom sighed happily, "You're amazing too."_

 

_"Can you promise me something?" he asked, bringing Tom's arms up to wrap around his neck as the latter joyously comply._

 

_He hummed, "What is it?"_

 

_Pecking on his boyfriend's cheek, Chris rested his hands on Tom's hips and smiled, "No secrets between you and me. Promise?"_

 

_"I promise."_

 

They were so young back then, even before Tom knew he had this irritating sickness that left him wheezing breathlessly and exhausted to his bones. They sat side by side on the couch, Tom's leg rested on top of Chris' as they watched their favourite movie and ate their dinner in a comfortable silence. He felt excruciatingly worn out, he couldn't swallow his dinner and resorted to stare sadly at his cold macaroni. Tom needed to eat his meds, before he could do so, he needed to tell Chris.

 

He'd promised Chris he should never kept any secrets from him, and now that he did, Tom wondered if Chris would snap at him and leave him alone by himself. Before Tom could form a sentence to rip Chris' attention from the movie, his lover spoke, "Is there something bothering you?"

 

"...Y-Yes," he stammered, watching Chris placing his and Tom's bowl on the low-table.

 

He couldn't read what Chris was thinking, and the expression written on his face. He might be angry after all, as he should be. Chris turned off the television and turned to him, as he tenderly held his hand, "Tell me."

 

Really, Tom felt like crying. Times like these, with Chris, he felt so small. So dead. So hapless.

 

Courage.

 

Please give him courage.

 

"Tom?"

 

"C-Chris, I..." he paused momentarily, his voice was trembling and so was his body. Chris' hands were cupping his face, and he looked straight to the longing pair of cerulean eyes. A tear streaked down his cheek, noticing Chris' slight frown as he murmured, "...I'm sick."

 

"...What?"

 

*

 

Tom was crying in his arms.

 

Chris understood him, he didn't need to explain any further. He was aware of Tom's sickness, and how his system stopped responding to medical treatments - Emma had told him weeks before. And since then, he didn't know how to face Tom. He couldn't feel anything, they were both guilty for keeping secrets from each other.

 

"I'm so sorry... I'm s-sorry, Chris..." his breath hitched, sobbing onto Chris' shoulder. Patting his back gently, Chris gathered his crying lover close to him - swallowing his sadness, kissing Tom's temple down to his jaw.

 

And hushed, "Shh, it's okay... It's okay."

 

He swept him off the couch, carrying Tom up to their supposedly shared bedroom - wincing on how weightless Tom felt as his lover struggled to keep his hold on Chris' neck.

 

"...P-Please don't be angry with me..."

 

"Never. I'm not angry..."

 

*

 

Walking along the beach in Brighton, the evening was surprisingly empty for a place of tourists attraction. The darkening day, was only for him and the beautiful setting sun of coloured orange. Feeling the whispers of the wind against his skin, as his hand rummaged in his front pocket and took out a familiar watch.

 

Chris smiled.

 

Tom left him a week after that very night, and had married him a day before he passed. Fate didn't allow them any more time, and they only exchanged their watches as confirmation of their marriage. It was hard to let him go. But Tom had accepted everything, and so was Chris. He would eventually join him someday. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon.

 

Slipping Tom's watch to his wrist, there was a loving breeze brushing pass him and halted his walk.

 

"Tom?"

 

There was it again. The breeze that seemed to embrace him, and the strange yet familiar warmth that rested against his chest. Chris' hand unconsciously moved to caress the empty air, where Tom's face should be. Then he heard soft whispers, and chuckled, "No, babe. I'm not angry."

 

Tom's lifeless presence would then stay with him for a few weeks, accompanying him through the days where the news and Tom's fans would forever cry about his sudden death. He felt glad enough that he could openly say that Tom would be forever his in the public, and that no one could replace him. Before Tom was finally gone, Chris heard him whispering, 'i love you' to his ear.

 

Watching the arms of the watch moving so deadly slow, Chris murmured, "...Me too." 

 

As the word 'love you too' became so heavy for him to say. And it felt strangely ironic. 

 


End file.
